


Haunted Houses

by Aces_and_Roses



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Slow Burn, ghost au, zolf is so bad a being a ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aces_and_Roses/pseuds/Aces_and_Roses
Summary: It was just Zolf’s luck that he’d gotten stuck with the most oblivious person on the planet. Or perhaps the most staunch disbeliever in the paranormal, he wasn’t quite sure. It didn’t really matter what the exact reason was; in either case, the most recent, and current record-holder for longest, resident of Zolf’s home didn’t appear to be scaring easily. Not in the least.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Zolf Smith
Comments: 30
Kudos: 109





	1. All houses wherein men have lived and died

**Author's Note:**

> Title (and chapter titles) are from "Haunted Houses" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
> 
> Just a warning: in this story, Zolf is dead (hence why he's a ghost). He died before the story began, and there will only be minor, non-detailed descriptions of how it happened.

It was just Zolf’s luck that he’d gotten stuck with the most oblivious person on the planet. Or perhaps the most staunch disbeliever in the paranormal, he wasn’t quite sure. It didn’t really matter what the exact reason was; in either case, the most recent, and current record-holder for longest, resident of Zolf’s home didn’t appear to be scaring easily. Not in the least.

Zolf had thought - foolishly, evidently - that he would finally be left alone, after the last owner had run off screaming. He’d been a journalist, so Zolf had hoped that he would publish something about his clearly haunted house, something to scare off any prospective buyers.

Apparently he hadn’t.

The new guy - Hamid, Zolf had heard some of his visitors call him - had moved in about two months previous. Zolf hadn’t noticed at the time, still recovering his energy from his last bout of object-throwing, door-slamming, all around haunting that he’d used to scare off the journalist. He’d felt like he had barely enough energy to exist, let alone actually collect himself enough to check and make sure no one else had moved in. In fact, the idea hadn’t even occurred to him, convinced as he was that the story would be enough to stop anyone new from buying the place. So by the time he thought to check, Hamid had already settled in, and it was far too late to do anything to stop it.

But that was fine, he’d thought at the beginning. It was normal. He’d just take a bit of time to get his strength back, then he’d go back to haunting. People rarely ever managed more than two months in the house, anyway. This _Hamid_ would be gone in no time.

Or so he’d thought.

He’d started small. He always did; why put in more effort than necessary if just a slammed door or two would be enough to scare someone away?

Hamid set a wooden spoon on the counter while he was cooking, and Zolf threw it across the room. But instead of the typical confusion-bordering-on-fear that sort of stunt usually achieved, Hamid just shrugged, picked the spoon up off the floor, tossed it into the sink, and grabbed another out of the drawer (but that was fine, Zolf could deal with it; Hamid wasn’t the first resident to be completely unaffected by that move).

Hamid was sitting on the couch, reading a book, so Zolf grabbed a throw pillow from the other end and chucked it at his head (not hard, he didn’t _hurt_ people). At the moment that the pillow was about to hit him, however, Hamid dropped his book and bent down to retrieve it, causing the pillow to sail directly over his head. Of course.

Hamid was in the kitchen once more (he spent a lot of time in the kitchen, making large portions of elaborate meals, even when he was eating alone), and had just set some freshly washed tomatoes down next to the sink. Zolf picked one up, floated up near the ceiling, and threw it at him, his logic being that, even if Hamid managed to duck out of the way again, it would splatter on the floor next to him. There was no way he’d be able to miss that.

Right?

But no, Hamid managed to duck out of the path of the tomato and, when he noticed the stain on the floor, just shook his head and muttered something about how he ‘must have stepped on it without noticing’ as he cleaned it up.

So Zolf tried again, and again, and again, all with the same result. Or, more specifically, lack of results. And before Zolf knew it, it had already been five months, meaning that Hamid was officially the longest resident of the house since Zolf’s brother had died.

Damn it.

* * *

It had been almost a year, and Zolf was getting tired. None of his usual strategies were working; Hamid was apparently both the most oblivious and the luckiest person on the planet. Every time he threw something at him, or near him, or just at a wall or the floor, Hamid missed it. Either he ducked, or he looked away, or he left, and he always, _always_ , shrugged it off once he noticed, no matter how weird it was (even the time Zolf had broken a whole carton’s worth of eggs, even though he’d thrown some at _the ceiling_ ).

As a rule, Zolf rarely made himself visible. He didn’t usually need to, his typical strategies were mostly sufficient to scare away any tenants within a month or so, and he certainly didn’t gain anything from it (if anything, he just it just made him get tired more quickly). But this was anything but usual, and Zolf was getting annoyed with Hamid’s constant brushing off of his work (it wasn’t personal, he knew, but _still_ ). So, desperate times called for desperate measures, after all. He no longer had a choice; if he wanted Hamid out of the house, he would have to do something a bit more extreme.

Hamid had been gone for most of the day, the same as he was most days; leaving the house in an immaculate three-piece suit, his typical curls straightened and slicked back (he worked at a bank, Zolf had found out one day when Hamid had left his ID out on the kitchen table, and he certainly looked it whenever he left). So Zolf had taken advantage of the empty house, rehearsing what he was going to do, what he was going to say, so many times that the words nearly lost their meaning (it had been decades since anyone had seen him, could he really be blamed for wanting it to go smoothly?).

Before he knew it, though, he heard the sound of keys jingling, and barely managed to force himself out of sight once more before the door swung open, revealing Hamid, his arms full of grocery bags (with the kind of grimly determined look on his face that said he’d decided that he was going to carry all of them in one trip, so he was going to _carry them all in one trip, dammit_ ).

Zolf waited until Hamid had put the bags down on the kitchen counter, beginning to unpack their contents, before he made his move. He appeared a few feet behind Hamid, leaning against the wall in the hall leading from the foyer to the kitchen. “Hello.”

Hamid whipped around to face Zolf so quickly he nearly threw himself off-balance. “Wh-what? Who are you? Wh-what are you doing in my house?” he stuttered, brandishing the can of beans in his hand like it was a weapon.

“I could ask you the same question,” Zolf responded dryly. Hamid’s brows furrowed, and Zolf had to suppress a grin as he pushed off the wall, then promptly stuck his hand _into_ it.

Hamid squeaked in surprise, his eyes going impossibly wide as he stared at the spot where Zolf’s arm disappeared into the wall. “What? H-how?”

“How d’ya think?” When Hamid just continued to stare in shock, Zolf gave an exasperated sigh, withdrawing his arm. “I’m a ghost. Obviously.”

 _That_ got Hamid’s attention; he started backing away, shaking his head vehemently. “N-no, that’s not- Ghosts aren’t-”

“What, real?” Zolf didn’t approach him; he wanted to scare him a bit, not cause a panic attack (which it looked like Hamid was on the verge of, given how quick and shaky his breaths were). “I have to say, I’m a bit offended, Hamid. I’m standing right in front of you. Or, well-” he glanced down to where his feet hovered, around half an inch above the floor, “ _floating_ right in front of you, I suppose, if we’re being picky about it.”

“H-how do you know my name?” Hamid asked, his voice somehow getting even higher.

Zolf just shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ve had people over. They’ve said your name.”

“You’ve been _watching me_?”

“Not by choice,” Zolf responded. “You’re living in _my_ house.”

“I-I’m not! You can’t just- just wander in here and-”

Zolf raised a hand, cutting him off. “Wait just a minute. Do you seriously still not believe that I’m a ghost?”

“O-of course not!” Hamid moved slightly closer to the counter, groping blindly behind himself to grab the… thing that Zolf had never really bothered to learn the name of, but had seen Hamid speak into on occasion. “Ghosts don’t exist! I- I’m going to need you to get out of my house now, or I’ll have no choice but to call the police.”

Zolf shouldn’t have been surprised; it was just his luck that the new tenant would be both oblivious _and_ a skeptic. But he’d stuck his arm _into a wall_ for goodness’ sake, what other possible explanation could there be for that? No matter how ridiculous he thought Hamid’s denial of ghosts was, however, Zolf’s current strategy didn’t seem to be working. He needed to do something else, something to convince him, but he didn’t know what (he’d never needed to _prove_ to anyone that he was a ghost before). So he did the only thing he could think of; he asked.

“What could I do to convince you that I’m a ghost, then, if the whole ‘sticking my arm into a solid wall’ thing wasn’t enough?”

“Ghosts aren’t real!”

Zolf sighed, rolling his eyes, then turned and walked through the wall next to him (taking more than a little pleasure in the quickly stifled scream Hamid gave when he did). Then he poked his head back out, “How about now?”

“You- you could be a hologram,” Hamid said quickly, though his wide, frightened eyes betrayed him.

“I don’t know what that is.” He paused, considering. “Can holograms touch things?”

“N-no.”

Ducking back into the wall, Zolf made his way around Hamid to the kitchen, then cleared his throat. Hamid spun to face him, shrieking and clutching his phone to his chest as he backed away from Zolf hastily. Zolf didn’t make any move toward him, instead making his hand corporeal and grabbing the thing resting closest to him on the counter, which in this case was a box of cereal. “Not a hologram, whatever that is.”

Hamid visibly paled, pressing himself back against the wall. “N-Not a hologram.”

“A ghost,” Zolf replied, setting the box back on the counter.

“A… A ghost. I’m living in a haunted house.” Hamid looked about ready to pass out (a good sign, as far as Zolf was concerned; it might be enough to make him leave, if he was lucky). He pushed off the wall, still looking somewhat stunned as he made his way past Zolf, muttering under his breath, “I’m living in a haunted house. A haunted house.”

As Hamid wandered out of the room, Zolf noticed that he’d only half-unpacked his groceries. “Hamid, wait, you forgot-” Hamid turned down the hall toward his bedroom, and within moments Zolf heard the door shut. “-to put away your groceries.”

Zolf could leave it; it wasn’t his job, not in the least. But Hamid always bought such expensive food, and it would really be a shame to let it all go to waste. Best that he put it away.

* * *

Hamid didn’t reemerge from his room until the next morning. That in itself wasn’t that surprising to Zolf; he’d seemed more than a bit shaken by the realization that he was being haunted when he’d disappeared into it the night before. What _was_ surprising, however, was what he looked like when he did. Namely, that he was already entirely immaculate, the way he always was when he was heading out to work. But he didn’t need to leave for another hour, at least, and in the entire year he’d been living in the house he’d never before gotten ready to leave before eating breakfast.

(But Zolf wasn’t worried. He _wasn’t_. Changes were good, Hamid’s sudden discomfort in his home was _good_ , because it meant he might leave. He should feel like it was good.)

And so Zolf, despite knowing he would come to regret it later, decided to ask. As Hamid sat at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of tea and looking at the newspaper, Zolf appeared seated across from him, clearing his throat. Hamid startled, pressing a hand to his chest as he let out a long breath.

“Oh, you’re here. I guess it was too much to hope you were some sort of sleep-deprived hallucination, wasn’t it?”

Zolf, unsure how to respond to that, hummed a noncommittal noise. “You look different this morning. You don’t usually get all…” Zolf gestured vaguely at Hamid’s whole outfit, “ready, before you eat.”

Hamid pursed his lips, levelling Zolf with an unimpressed look. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware that I had a supernatural voyeur before. Can you blame me for wanting to look a little more presentable?”

“What does it matter, then? I’ve already seen you without your hair all slicked back and everything.”

“That’s not- It’s not the same.”

“How so?”

Making a frustrated noise, Hamid reached up as though to run a hand through his hair before stopping himself. “You’re just doing this to annoy me, aren’t you?”

Zolf shrugged, giving Hamid a lopsided grin. “Maybe. Depends, will you leave if I annoy you enough?” Hamid just rolled his eyes, returning his focus to the newspaper in front of him. “I’ll take that as a no, then?”

When there was no further response from Hamid, Zolf sighed and disappeared.

Too bad, though he supposed it was a bit much to hope it would be that easy.

* * *

Zolf _tried_ to get back into the whole haunting thing, he really did - throwing things, slamming doors, and all that - but it just wasn’t… working. It was hard to find the way Hamid startled when Zolf threw a pillow at him satisfying when it was immediately followed by Hamid glaring at him (or close to him, at least, when Zolf didn’t deign to be visible). It wasn’t scaring him anymore (not that it ever really had in the first place), and Zolf found himself somewhat at a loss for what to do.

That all changed the day _she_ came. Zolf didn’t recognize her, not in the slightest, but the way Hamid greeted her - all nervous energy, respect, and just a little bit of hope - was something Zolf was immediately familiar with.

A medium. Hamid had hired _a medium_.

So Zolf was, to put it simply, pissed. And could he really be blamed for that? A _medium_ , as if _he_ was the interloper in the house, not Hamid. As if _he_ was the one who’d just- just shown up, one day, uninvited and unwanted.

Her name was Azu, and Zolf _hated her_. More on principle than anything else; she was in _his_ home, trying to tell _him_ to leave, waving around incense and muttering Latin phrases that meant absolutely nothing to him (he wasn’t a _demon_ , he wasn’t even sure if demons actually existed).

She wasn’t the first medium he’d ever encountered (Hamid certainly wasn’t the first to come up with the idea of bringing one in, and he probably wouldn’t be the last), and he supposed he shouldn’t really be complaining. At the very least she was kinder than the last few, _asking_ why he was still here rather than demanding he tell her, _suggesting_ that he let go and move on rather than ordering him to. But that didn’t mean he had to like that she was there.

Typically, he wouldn’t even bother making himself present for something like this; it wouldn’t make a difference, and he didn’t really get any pleasure from scaring people other than the ones living in the house (didn’t get any pleasure from scaring anyone, really. He only did it because he wanted them to _leave_ ). In this case, though…

This time, the medium did what was obviously her usual routine, but once she was finished, she didn’t leave. Instead, she turned to Hamid, sitting him down on the couch, her expression sympathetic, kind. She spoke softly, gently, asking Hamid about his life as of late, about stress, how he was feeling, how much sleep he was getting.

She didn’t think Zolf was _real_. She thought he was the product of some sleep-deprived hallucination, that he didn’t _exist_. That had never happened before, a medium had never doubted his existence (why would they, when it was their job to believe?), and he didn’t know why but it _hurt_.

_He existed._

_He was real._

_Wasn’t he?_

So instead of continuing with his usual routine of staring at the medium and fuming, without letting either her or Hamid realize he was there, he waited until she was looking away and appeared behind him, tapping his shoulder. Hamid shrieked, and the medium whipped around, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

“O-oh,” she breathed, hand pressed to her chest. Then she swallowed, shook her head sharply, collecting herself. “Hello, there. I take it you’re Hamid’s supernatural houseguest, then.”

Zolf snorted, rolling his eyes. “Oh, _I’m_ the houseguest, am I?” He floated closer to her, until he was mere inches from her face (abruptly thankful that he could hover, considering how unfairly tall she was). “No. I’ve liv- existed here since I died. This is _my_ home, so if anyone is a guest here it’s him. Him and every other goddamn person who thinks it’s okay to come into _my_ place as if it’s theirs. Him and every other person that seems to think _I_ should be the one to leave.” He backed off, drifting toward the couch, picking up a cushion. “No, I’m not leaving. Now,” he turned back toward her, letting all the anger and hurt that he’d felt since he died seep into his voice, into his being, “get out of my home!”

He threw the cushion at her head then and, when that wasn’t enough, another, and another.

She didn’t leave until the seventh cushion.

(Zolf tried to ignore the fact he’d heard her promise Hamid she’d come back after she did more research. He didn’t want to think about it.)

“So,” Hamid said, glancing up from his book to look around the empty room, “if you’re not going to be leaving anytime soon, what should I call you?”

Zolf barely heard him from where he was shuffling around the kitchen, searching for easily throwable objects that wouldn’t do any lasting damage (for the next time Hamid was particularly annoying). He didn’t even think the question was directed at him until Hamid continued, “Uh, ghost? House ghost? Are you… around?” Zolf considered not responding; he couldn’t help but find the idea of Hamid realizing he’d been talking to no one rather funny. But he _was_ getting a bit sick of Hamid just calling him 'ghost’.

He floated out to the living room, stopping just behind where Hamid’s head poked up above the back of the couch, and flicked the back of his head. Hamid’s hand flew up to the spot, rubbing at it. “Rude,” he said, his pout audible in his tone. “Did you really have to do that?”

“Yes,” Zolf responded, floating through the couch to hover in front of Hamid. “I’m haunting you.”

“Can’t you do that without flicking me?”

“Nope,” Zolf said, popping the P sound in a way that sounded distinctly smug. “Pretty sure there’s a rule about that in the ghost handbook.”

Hamid levelled him with an unimpressed look, leaning forward to put his book down on the coffee table in front of him, reaching _through_ Zolf’s chest to do so (and didn’t that feel weird, oddly… warm. Warm enough that Zolf felt a little more… well, alive, when Hamid’s hand left him. Like he had a body again, though he barely remembered what that felt like). “There’s not a ghost handbook. Anyway, you’re ignoring my question.”

“Huh?” was the only reply Zolf could muster, far too occupied cataloguing the sensation in his chest (it was- was it good? He couldn’t decide).

“If you’re sticking around, I feel like I should call you something other than, well, ‘house ghost’. So do you have a name? Or something else I can call you by?”

Zolf felt a flash of anger at that - of course he had a name, he’d been alive once, hadn’t he? - but he tamped it down. Hamid hadn’t meant it like that, he was sure. He wasn’t cruel. “Zolf. Zolf Smith.”

“Well then,” Hamid said with a smile, “it’s nice to finally properly meet you, Zolf.” Hamid’s hand twitched toward him, and Zolf knew he was suppressing the urge to offer it to shake.

He appreciated it.

Zolf didn’t even bother trying to fight down his answering smile, despite knowing he should. After all, he shouldn’t be smiling at Hamid, he shouldn’t be trying to be friendly. Hell, he shouldn’t even be talking to him. Zolf was trying to scare him away, get him out of his house.

Wasn’t he?

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Zolf learned a lot about Hamid. He hadn’t really been paying attention before, far too focused on trying to get him to leave to keep track of his habits. Recently, though, he hadn’t been putting quite as much effort into trying to scare Hamid away (telling himself that he was playing the long game, that he was trying to lull Hamid into a false sense of security in order to more easily frighten him later, though even he wasn’t particularly convinced by that anymore) so he’d had a bit more time to put into other things. And since there weren’t that many other things for a ghost bound to one location to do, he wound up watching Hamid. A lot.

Hamid liked to read. Lots of very pretentious-looking titles, the sorts of books that had already been deemed classics when Zolf was still alive, the ones he’d never really understood the appeal of back then, and certainly didn’t now. There had also been one memorable time when Zolf had caught Hamid reading a trashy romance novel, the kind with a half-naked man on the cover, though he hadn’t realized until he’d made his presence known that it was the sort of thing Hamid would be ashamed of. Especially since those were the only kinds of books Zolf had ever been able to enjoy (he tried not to be annoyed by Hamid’s stringent denials and shame that accompanied Zolf saying that he thought the book looked interesting).

Hamid also listened to a lot of music, though thankfully his taste in that regard wasn’t nearly so high-and-mighty; Zolf was pretty sure if Hamid only listened to classical music he would have actually lost it. It was mostly music that Zolf didn’t recognize and was thoroughly ambiguous toward. He didn’t _dislike_ it, per se, it was just… different, than the music he had listened to (and different than the music most of the previous residents had listened to either). There was one artist he did enjoy, though; Carly Rae Jepsen, he’d found out her name was, after he’d ‘scared Hamid half to death’ by walking through the wall to ask.

Hamid had very good friends. There was the medium - Azu - who Hamid had apparently befriended after he’d hired her to try to expel Zolf, and of whom Zolf was not the biggest fan (though at least Hamid did him the favour of warning him whenever she was coming over so he could make himself scarce; just because she couldn’t actually kick him out didn’t mean that Zolf particularly enjoyed being around her). There was the quiet one, the young woman - Sasha? Zolf wasn’t quite sure - who always wore black and who Zolf had sworn had looked _right at him_ on more than one occasion, even when he shouldn’t have been visible, but hadn’t seemed particularly bothered by the sight of a floating man in the middle of Hamid’s living room (Zolf liked her. She seemed like the kind of person he would have gotten along with, in life). Also the one who always seemed to be in a rush - Grizzop - even when he and the rest of Hamid’s friends were just having a night in (Zolf supposed he could respect the efficiency, even if he didn’t quite understand it given that he had a literal eternity of ‘life’ to look forward to). And the very excitable, fast-talking one - Cel - who always seemed… not frazzled, but something similar to it.

There had been other friends, before. The tall, loud one called Bertie; the average-height one with the cruel sense of humour named Gideon; the short, intelligent, and somewhat tactless one named Liliana. But they didn’t come around anymore (though Zolf had no way of knowing whether Hamid still spoke to them), not after what Zolf liked to refer to as the ‘floating knife incident’. Could he really be blamed for not wanting them in his home after one too many tasteless and cruel jokes at Hamid’s expense from Bertie and Gideon? Liliana had simply been caught in the crossfire, not that Zolf was sorry not to see her again (he hadn’t really liked her much, though he could never pinpoint exactly why).

Zolf hadn’t been about to hurt them, thank you very much; he didn’t do that. He’d just wanted to scare them away, which he’d succeeded at doing (with flying colours, if he did say so himself).

One final thing that Zolf had learned about Hamid in the past weeks was that he liked to give gifts. That was probably the most startling realization, not because it was unexpected, but rather because of how Zolf discovered it.

One afternoon, when Zolf had just been… existing, as he did whenever he had nothing in particular keeping his attention, Hamid had come home, a shopping bag in one hand and an apprehensive look on his face. But Hamid went shopping a lot (that was another thing Zolf had learned about him), so Zolf had no reason to think it had anything to do with him. At least until Hamid called out his name.

“Zolf? Are you here?”

“Uh, yes,” Zolf replied, making himself visible behind him.

Hamid jumped, pressing his free hand to his chest as he whipped around, “Zolf, you’ve got to stop _doing_ that!” His words were scolding, but the impression his tone was supposed to give was somewhat compromised by the slight smile on his face as he relaxed back against the wall, dropping his hand from his heart to instead reach into the bag. Zolf didn’t bother trying to fight down his answering grin, knowing full well that there was no point (besides, Hamid’s smiles always got a little wider when Zolf returned them. Not that that was important to Zolf, not at all).

“I’m haunting you,” Zolf said with a shrug, and Hamid gave him an exasperated look.

“Sure you are.” He paused, his arm nearly shoulder deep in the shopping bag. “I, uh, got something for you. Or some _things_ , I suppose.” He withdrew his arm from the bag, now holding a stack of… thin, square _things_ , looking for a moment like he was going to try to hand them to Zolf before he abruptly realized what he was doing and walked over to put them on the kitchen counter instead.

Zolf followed, peering at them once Hamid had put them down. “I don’t- I don’t know what these are,” he said, confused, turning to look at Hamid where he stood next to him, wringing his hands a bit.

“Well, ah, they’re a couple of things, actually.” He reached past Zolf to grab the top two squares off the stack, holding them up. “These are CDs. Music. Carly Rae Jepsen, more specifically. I seem to remember that you liked her?” Hamid’s tone shifted, near the end, until the words sounded more like a question than a statement, but he powered on. “And the rest are audiobooks. I was- I was going to get you some romance novels, since you said you’d enjoyed them before you… Before. But then I was worried you wouldn’t actually be able to read them, since you mentioned that you have to focus to make yourself corporeal, so I thought that audiobooks would work, but then I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to work a- a phone or a tablet so I had to find these which was-”

“Thank you, Hamid,” Zolf cut in, stopping him mid-ramble. “That’s… This is really thoughtful.”

“It was no trouble, really,” Hamid said, even as his earlier words had made it very clear that it actually _had_ been quite difficult. “I figured, well, this is the least I can do, right? Since you’re letting me live in your house, and all.”

“It’s your house, too.” The words slipped out before Zolf had a chance to consider them (before he had a chance to remember that _no_ , _he didn’t want Hamid here_ , or at the very least that he wasn’t _supposed_ to want Hamid here). It was too late to take them back, however, as Hamid’s smile grew impossibly wider.

Based on the look on his face Zolf was fairly certain that, had he been corporeal at that moment, Hamid would have hugged him. He seemed like a hugger, from everything Zolf had learned about him.

* * *

“Did you know that you change colour?” Hamid asked one afternoon, apropos of absolutely nothing as he and Zolf sat in the living room watching something mindless on the TV.

Zolf turned toward him, his brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I what?”

“You change colour. Depending on your mood, I think. I noticed it a while ago.” Zolf just continued to stare at him, head tilted slightly as he tried to figure out whether or not Hamid was having him on. “I take it you didn’t know, then?”

“Well, I- no, it’s not like I look at myself in the mirror all that often.” Zolf paused, considering. “Are you being serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Zolf shrugged. “I dunno, this could just be some sort of elaborate… joke, I guess?”

Hamid chuckled, then made a crossing motion over his chest. “Not a joke, I swear.”

Unsure of what he could say to that, Zolf just shrugged, making an affirmative sort of noise, and shifted his gaze back to the TV. Or, at least, he was about to before Hamid piped up again. “So, how are you feeling right now?”

“Uh, not- not much really. Just… relaxed, I guess? Content?” Hamid nodded, pulling out his phone and typing something. “Why?”

He pocketed the phone, glancing back to Zolf. “I’ve been keeping track of the colours, what emotions they’re linked to.” He flashed Zolf a smile, “Might make it easier for me to track your mood.”

Zolf ‘hmm’ed, taking a moment to look at his hand. It didn’t look any different than it usually did, he was pretty sure, which would explain why he’d never noticed the change before. “What colour am I now, then?”

“Dark-ish green, at the moment. Although,” he tugged his phone out of his pocket again, typing something else into it as he spoke, “you turned kind of yellow-y green when you asked…” He trailed off, seemingly lost in thought as he considered whatever notes he’d written in his phone before, so Zolf settled back against the couch, returning his attention to the TV.

Zolf couldn’t help but feel… flattered by the attention. By the fact that Hamid cared enough about him to want to track his mood, to keep tabs on how he was feeling. It was sweet. It had… it had been a long time since someone had been that sweet to him.

It was nice.

* * *

Zolf should have known it could never last. That this… comfortable coexistence he and Hamid had wouldn’t stay forever. If he’d been asked _how_ it would end, however, he would have been hard-pressed to come up with an answer. Hamid was so _kind_ , and _considerate_ ; it didn’t seem likely that he’d be the one to ruin it. But given everything Hamid had put up with from Zolf, he would also have had no idea what he could do to break their fragile truce.

But no one could predict the future, could they?

It started so innocuously, just the two of them on the couch, watching some documentary or other about something that had happened while Zolf was still alive, silent but for the occasional question from Hamid about what Zolf remembered (the answer, typically, was ‘not much’. He hadn’t exactly kept up with the news, what with the whole ‘being at sea’ thing). It was comfortable. Domestic even.

Until Hamid broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, leaning forward to pause the documentary, “about the shipwreck. I- That must have been horrible.”

Zolf turned to him, confused. “What- Shipwreck? What are you talking about?”

“The, uh, the shipwreck.” He paused, his eyes fixed on his hands where they rested in his lap. “The shipwreck that killed you. I’ve- I’ve never- that must have been terrifying. I’m sorry.”

“How- how do you know about that?” Zolf didn’t stiffen - couldn’t, given his complete lack of anything that could be even generously called muscle - but the feeling that ran through him at Hamid’s words gave him the distinct impression that he would have, if it were possible.

Hamid glanced up, an almost guilty look on his face, before looking away once more. “I… When you told me your name I… I wanted to know. So I asked Azu to do some research, and she found that you were in the navy, that you died when your ship went down during a storm.”

If Zolf was being entirely honest, he hadn’t really thought about how he’d died in… a very long time. It didn’t seem all that important, really; what does it matter how you died if that wound up not being the end, if all that came after was an eternity bound to the mortal plane? And yet, as Hamid spoke, Zolf could feel the anger building, bubbling up inside him in a way he hadn’t felt since his brother had died, since he’d raged against the unfairness of the world leaving him behind as Feryn moved on.

“You looked me up?” Each word was hard, the anger sharpening their edges until they felt like they could cut. Zolf’s colour must have shown how he felt, as Hamid just nodded silently (hesitantly), shifting his weight uncomfortably.

The thing was, he would have told Hamid about it, if he’d asked.

The thing was, Hamid hadn’t asked. No, instead he’d just gone and done his research without Zolf’s permission, and then had the gall to bring it up as though he had any right to know.

Zolf shook his head slowly, trying to get his feelings back under control. He might have even succeeded, if that hadn’t been the moment Hamid decided to start talking again.

“I was just curious.”

The anger that had just started to subside flickered back to life. “You were just curious?” he said indignantly as he moved forward, into Hamid’s space, jabbing an incorporeal finger at his chest. “I’m not a goddamn mystery, or a thing! I’m not a curiously to be studied!”

“I wanted to know why you’re still here,” Hamid retorted, unflinching in the face of Zolf’s anger.

“Then maybe you should have asked!” He backed off slightly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I just- God, Hamid, did you even take a _second_ to consider that I might not want you to know that? That I might want to keep just a bit of my past, of _myself,_ private!”

Hamid visibly bristled at that, his shoulders drawn up slightly toward his ears. “Oh, as if _you’re_ one to preach about _privacy_!”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I haven’t felt like I’ve had privacy in my home since the- since the first time I saw you! You- you’re invisible, most of the time! I have no way of knowing where you are, whether you’re watching me! So don’t you _dare_ ,” Hamid took a step forward, staring defiantly up at Zolf, “lecture _me_ about privacy!”

Zolf barked out an incredulous laugh. “You- you seriously think I would, what, watch you in your bedroom? I- I’m dead, but that doesn’t mean I’m a- a _creep_. I would _never_ , I’m not-“ Zolf let out a noise of frustration, running a hand through his hair. “If the fact that I’m here makes you so damn uncomfortable, then why don’t you just _leave_?”

“Maybe I will!” Hamid retorted.

“Maybe you should!” Zolf snapped back.

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Hamid turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, marching to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. Zolf made another frustrated noise, abruptly flickering out of sight.

He’d thought-

Whatever. It didn’t matter what he’d thought.

(Damn it.)


	2. Are haunted houses

Hamid was _leaving_.

Zolf should be happy. He knew he should be happy. Wasn’t this exactly what he’d wanted? Wasn’t this exactly what he’d been trying so hard to get him to do for the last year?

It was, wasn’t it?

So why did it hurt so much? Why did he feel like his world was going to end whenever he spotted one of the many cardboard boxes scattered throughout the house, growing steadily more full as the days dragged on?

He didn’t understand, it didn’t make any sense.

(That was a lie, he knew exactly why he felt like this. That didn’t mean he was ready to acknowledge it, to confront it.)

It didn’t matter. Conflicted feelings or no, Hamid was leaving, and there was nothing Zolf could (or would) do about it. Besides, if Hamid was so uncomfortable, Zolf had no right to try and stop him, did he? So instead he resolved to stay silent, out of the way, as Hamid packed away his life. He didn’t want to make Hamid any more upset, after all.

His resolve lasted up until the moment Hamid opened his mouth.

“I… For what it’s worth, Zolf, I’m sorry,” Hamid said to the empty air as he sat on the floor, taping a box shut. “I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy like that. If I’d wanted to know something so… personal, I should have asked you first, and I should have respected your wishes if you didn’t want me to know. So, I’m sorry.”

Zolf felt a twinge in his chest, the memory of a stuttered heartbeat, a pressure like a hand squeezing his non-existent lungs. 

(Hamid was sorry.)

(Zolf was sorry, too.)

Zolf moved to sit in front of Hamid on the floor, making himself visible for the first time in almost two weeks. When Hamid didn’t seem to notice him, he cleared his throat quietly, trying not to startle him (it didn’t work, never had. No matter how many times Zolf appeared to him, Hamid was always startled). He looked about to speak, but Zolf just shook his head.

“I heard. Thank you. You bothering to apologize at all, it…” Zolf hesitated, glancing away from Hamid (from the way Hamid stared at him, wide-eyed, eyes shining), steadying himself. “It means a lot. And I just, I wanted to say that I’m sorry, too. I should have realized how uncomfortable you were, I should have told you about my, uh, self-imposed boundaries. About privacy, and all that.”

“Thank you, Zolf.” He gave Zolf a lopsided smile. “I’m glad I’m not leaving on- on poor terms with you.” 

Zolf felt that same twinge again at the reminder.

(He didn’t want Hamid to go.)

(Hamid wanted to go.)

He took a moment to look, to really look, at Hamid. The shakey grin, eyes bright with unshed tears, hands rhythmically clenching and unclenching the hem of his shirt.

(Maybe he didn’t.)

If he still breathed, he would have taken a fortifying breath. As it was, he had no choice but to speak, come what may. “What- what would you say if I told you that I didn’t want you to leave?” The words tumbled out in a rush, so quick Zolf was surprised that they sounded at all coherent. “That I wanted you to stay here.”

“What?” Hamid squeaked, surprise colouring his tone. “W-why- you said-”

“I know what I said. What we both said.” Zolf looked down at the floor, finding it abruptly too much to maintain eye contact. “But I… I like having you here. You’re my friend, the first one I’ve had in a long time. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Hamid said, so quiet Zolf almost couldn’t hear him. 

“You- you will?”

“You’re my friend too, Zolf. Of course I will.”

Zolf wasn’t much of a hugger. Hadn’t been, even when he’d been alive. But when he looked at Hamid - eyes shining, smiling so gently at him - he wanted nothing more than to hug him. So he closed his eyes for a moment, summoning enough focus to make himself corporeal, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him. Hamid made a surprised noise as he did, seemingly stunned for a moment before his arms came up around Zolf’s back, holding him tight.

Hamid was a very good hugger.

* * *

“I’ve been thinking,” Hamid said abruptly, looking up from the book he’d been reading at Zolf, sat on the other end of the couch. “I know we talked about boundaries. And we made the rules and stuff. But we only really considered, you know, my comfort?” Hamid’s voice pitched upward at the end of his statement, making it sound more like a question. “We should have thought about yours.”

Zolf shrugged a shoulder, “Dunno what there is to think about. I’m the only one that can be invisible, and all.”

“But you can’t leave. I can. And even if I couldn’t,” Hamid gestured to the door of his bedroom, “I have my own space. You don’t.”

“I don’t mind, Hamid. Don’t worry about me. Besides, you’re usually gone most of the day anyway. That’s plenty of time alone.”

Hamid didn’t look pleased, tossing his book onto the coffee table and turning to face Zolf. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“You should have somewhere that- that’s yours.” Zolf made to respond, but Hamid just levelled him with a look. “And don’t say that the whole apartment is yours. You know that’s not what I mean.”

“It’s fine, Hamid, really. I’m fine. It hasn’t been a problem yet, has it?”

Hamid shook his head, exasperated. “Just because it hasn’t been a problem yet doesn’t mean it won’t be.”

“But-”

“No buts. Just-” Hamid sighed heavily. “The guest room is yours. That’s what I was trying to say. I won’t go in unless you tell me I can, same as you don’t go into my room, okay?”

Zolf shook his head, “That’s really not necessary-”

“Yes it is.”

Zolf opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again at the expression on Hamid’s face. “Fine.” He paused, considering, then continued in a much softer tone, “Thank you, Hamid.”

* * *

Hamid was crying. That in itself wasn’t exactly uncommon; he cried at movies and TV shows, even at books on occasion. Hell, sometimes he just got overly-emotional about how much he loved his friends, and that would make him cry too. This crying, however, was different.

For one, Zolf had never seen Hamid cry while going through the mail, before. But now he was, having torn open the envelope of one of the letters he’d received and promptly burst into tears. The crying itself seemed different than any of the others he’d seen, too. There’d been… something, underneath the tears, something that told Zolf yes, Hamid was crying, but that it was an okay sort of cry. Cathartic, in a sense. His tears now didn’t have anything like that, and Zolf was at a loss for what to do to help.

He appeared in front of Hamid, quietly clearing his throat in an effort not to startle him too badly. But Hamid didn’t move, didn’t even twitch from his position hunched over the table, sobbing into his hands, so still beyond the shaking of his shoulders that Zolf couldn’t tell if he’d even heard him. “Hamid?” he said gently, “What’s wrong?”

Hamid sniffed loudly, wiping at the tears staining his cheeks with the back of his hand as he looked up at Zolf. “I-it’s nothing, Zolf. I-I’m fine.” 

Zolf raised his eyebrows, giving Hamid his most unimpressed look. “You certainly don’t _look_ fine.” He took a moment to solidify himself, then reached out, laying a comforting (or at least, he hoped it was comforting) hand on Hamid’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Hamid relaxed slightly into the touch, a heavy sigh escaping him as he picked the letter up off the table and turned it to face Zolf so he could read it. “This. Is what’s wrong.”

Zolf had been wrong, earlier; it wasn’t a letter at all. Rather, it was an invitation. An invitation to ‘attend the union of Gideon Langdon and Liliana B. Kos’ to be exact.

Zolf didn’t quite get it.

His confusion must have shown on his face (or in his colour, more likely; Hamid had told him he always turned slightly yellow when he was confused), because Hamid sighed again and began to explain. “Gideon and Liliana are friends of mine. Or were, I suppose. The ones you scared off.” Zolf opened his mouth to (explain? Apologize? He didn’t regret what he’d done, not after the way Gideon had been treating Hamid) say something, but Hamid raised a hand, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I-I was pretty upset, at the time, but… Well, let’s just say that distance grants a certain amount of perspective and leave it at that. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, Liliana and I had been dating for a while, but we broke up not long after that whole incident. I didn’t… I didn’t even know she and Gideon had gotten together.” Hamid huffed out a frustrated noise before continuing, “Who invites their- their ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend to their wedding, anyway?”

Zolf didn’t quite know what to say, or if there was really anything that he _could_ say. And, knowing Hamid, he probably didn’t really _need_ him to say anything. So in lieu of that, he simply made a noise somewhere between affirmative and annoyed on Hamid’s behalf.

“Honestly,” Hamid continued, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did it just to- to show off.” Hamid pitched his voice oddly, obviously trying to do some sort of unflattering impression (though Zolf couldn’t tell who it was he was trying to imitate), “Oh, look, Hamid, look how happy we are. See how much better our lives have been since you stopped being a part of them.” He made another annoyed sound, dropping the impression. “Arseholes.”

“So you’re not going, then?”

“Oh, no, I’m totally going,” Hamid responded without hesitation. “I’m going to go, and I’m going to show them just how great _I’m_ doing. They want to be petty? I’ll show them petty.”

Zolf snorted, and Hamid’s gaze (eyes still red-rimmed, moisture still gathered in the corners) snapped up to him, brows furrowed slightly. “What?”

Zolf straightened, giving Hamid’s shoulder a parting squeeze before withdrawing his hand. “It’s nothing. Just… That’s just very you.” Hamid made an indignant noise, but Zolf cut him off before he could speak, “Not in a bad way. It’s cute.” Zolf felt his eyes widen as he realized what he’d just said. “I-I mean, not _cute_ , I just- it’s just-” If he still could, he was certain he would be flushing bright red. As it was, he was surely turning some colour or other (though he wasn’t sure exactly which; Hamid had never mentioned what colour he turned when _mortally embarrassed_ ).

Hamid grinned at him, waving a dismissive hand (was it just Zolf, or were his cheeks slightly pinker than they were a few moments before?). “It’s fine, Zolf, I get it.” He paused, taking on a somewhat mischievous expression. “I’ll only hold it over you for a few months.”

Zolf found he couldn’t even be annoyed by that; he was just glad he’d gotten Hamid to smile again.

* * *

Something… shifted, after that, though Zolf would be hard-pressed to figure out what exactly about the interaction had caused it. But discernible cause or not, something had changed (and Zolf got the distinct feeling that there was no going back).

The first thing Zolf noticed was the touching. He was hardly ever corporeal (though he found himself staying visible more and more often as of late) since, most of the time, it required far more focus than he could reasonably muster up. Whenever he was though, Hamid had started being very affectionate. Letting his hands linger when he passed something to Zolf, leaning against his shoulder as they stood at the kitchen counter, flicking him gently in the center of the forehead when he made some playful remark or other, grabbing Zolf’s hand when he got particularly excited. It was odd, Zolf wasn’t used to that level of affection, hadn’t been even when he was alive. That in and of itself wouldn’t have drawn any more attention than that of a passing curiosity, however (Hamid was very touchy-feely with all his friends, with the exception of Sasha, so it didn’t seem that strange), if it had been the only thing.

It wasn’t.

Hamid had also started buying him more gifts. More audiobooks and CDs, to begin with. Practical things, things for Zolf to entertain himself with during the days when Hamid was at work (though still one of the kindest gestures Zolf had seen in a long time). But as time went on, they only got less practical; a dolphin carved from driftwood (after Zolf had offhandedly mentioned his fondness for them), a ring with a small emerald embedded in the center that Hamid had said reminded him of Zolf (the exact shade of his eyes, if Zolf recalled correctly), and even flowers once, though Hamid had insisted that they were just to brighten up the kitchen (his nervousness when he’d presented them to Zolf said otherwise). It was getting kind of ridiculous; Zolf couldn’t even use or wear most of the stuff a majority of the time, but Hamid just wouldn’t _stop_ , to the point that Zolf had his own shelf in the living room to store all of it (as there was simply too much to be stored in Zolf’s room. And besides, Hamid always got all… giddy when he saw them).

Zolf didn’t _get it_. Some of the stuff Hamid was buying looked expensive, and sure, Zolf was pretty certain he had a fair bit of money, but it still didn’t make any sense. Zolf wasn’t _worth_ that. They were friends, yes, but out of necessity; Zolf didn’t doubt that Hamid wouldn’t have looked at him twice if the situation were any different, if they hadn’t been forced together by Zolf’s connection to the house.

So why did it seem more and more plausible that Hamid cared for him as something other than a friend?

(And why didn’t Zolf mind the thought of that?)

Initially, Zolf thought the sudden uptick in affection would… level off, after a while. That it would reach about the amount Hamid regularly showed his friends and stop there.

That was decidedly not the case. If anything, it was the opposite; once Zolf reacted positively to any of Hamid’s displays of affection, the incidence of that particular action (whatever it happened to be) seemed to increase tenfold. It was like Zolf appreciating it gave Hamid permission to open the floodgates (not that he really minded, despite knowing he _should_ ).

And look, Zolf might have not understood exactly why Hamid seemed to care about him so much (it wasn’t like he was anything special, anything worthy of the attention Hamid was giving him), but he wasn’t an idiot. He could see what was happening, he’d noticed the exact moment when Hamid’s actions crossed the line from strictly friendly to something distinctly _more_.

He could feel his own non-existent heart skip a beat in response.

And maybe he shouldn’t be letting it happen. Maybe he shouldn’t be letting Hamid’s warm smiles send butterflies fluttering through the place his stomach used to be; maybe he shouldn’t be letting himself smile back; maybe he shouldn’t be letting Hamid hold his hand quite so willingly; maybe he should be putting a stop to this- this _crush_ before it ended up hurting them both.

But what was the harm, really? Hamid’s feelings would change eventually. He was alive, after all. There was no harm in just… appreciating the affection a bit, while he had it.

No harm at all.

* * *

It was always going to end, Zolf knew. They couldn’t maintain the balancing act forever. 

Zolf just wished it hadn’t had to end so soon.

It hadn’t been anything special, that afternoon. Just the two of them, sat on opposite sides of the living room in relative silence, Zolf listening to one of the audiobooks Hamid had gotten him at low volume, and Hamid doing something work-related or other (he had a terrible habit of bringing work home with him, a habit Zolf had been trying his hardest to break). But when he’d glanced up at Hamid, he hadn’t been working, just… looking at him, an expression on his face that Zolf was too frightened to put a name to (fond, he would have called it, if he weren’t such a coward). Their eyes had met, and Hamid smiled, and Zolf found himself helpless to do anything but smile back.

Hamid put down his pen and stood, crossing the room to sit next to Zolf on the couch, angling himself to face him. Zolf paused his book, something in the way Hamid was holding himself, telling him that, whatever it was he wanted to say, it was serious.

“Zolf, I- I wanted to ask you something. I…” Hamid swallowed, gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before flicking back up to Zolf’s face. “I’ve noticed- that is to say I’ve felt- we…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath, visibly steeling himself.

“Hamid…”

“No, no, I- I need to say this. I… I love you. I love you, Zolf. And I- I hate to be presumptuous but it- it seems like you love me too. And if- if that’s the case I want to be with you. I-”

Zolf cut him off, the shock he felt at the declaration finally fading, giving way to confusion and disbelief. “W-why would you want that? Me? I’m… I hate to remind you, Hamid, but I’m dead. I’m- you deserve better. You deserve someone who- who you can touch, all the time! Someone who doesn’t disappear for days on end after he stupidly exhausts himself just because he wanted to give you a hug. You deserve someone warm, and solid, and real, and _alive_! Someone better than- than me!” Zolf was fairly certain that, had he the capability, he would have been crying right about then. As it was, he could feel himself blurring at the edges, the focus he needed to keep himself visible wavering as he brought to mind all the reasons why Hamid shouldn’t, _wouldn’t_ stay.

Glancing over at Hamid, Zolf saw that there _were_ tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as he stared back, wringing his hands in his lap. “I don’t- I don’t _care_ what I deserve, Zolf! It’s not about what I deserve! It’s- it’s about what I want, and I- I want you!”

Zolf shook his head slowly, sadly. “No, you don’t. You… you might think you do, now. But you’d regret it, in the end. And I-“ _I don’t think I could handle watching as you came to regret_ me _. Better to stop it now, before I let myself hope._ “This is better. For both of us.” Zolf’s edges blurred further, and he let them, willing himself to fade no matter how vehemently he didn’t want to. He knew what he needed to do, what was best for both of them, despite how much it hurt.

“Zolf? N-no, no, Zolf,” Hamid reached out a hand toward his rapidly disappearing form, the tears finally spilling over to run down his cheeks. “Zolf, you can’t! You-you can’t decide for me! Please don’t go, please!”

Hamid’s hand passed through his chest, bringing with it that warm sensation, the same one that accompanied his hands passing through Zolf every time. He closed his eyes, taking a moment to savour the feeling, to commit it to memory as he faded out of sight completely.

It was the last time he’d be feeling it, after all.

—-

It was more painful than he’d anticipated, watching as Hamid went about his day-to-day life, unable and unwilling to say or do anything, even as he saw Hamid nearly cut his hand open trying to dice an onion. He wanted nothing more than to make himself visible, crack a joke, take the knife out of Hamid’s hand as he convinced him to leave it until the tears had stopped. He wanted, more than anything else, for everything to be the way it had been before.

But it couldn’t, he knew that; this was for the best, for both of them. Eventually, Hamid would get over his fleeting feelings and leave. Sure, Zolf would be left alone again, at least until the next person inevitably moved in, but that was fine. It was what he’d wanted, after all. To be alone.

It didn’t feel like the right choice, though. Not as he watched, invisible and silent, as Hamid sat on the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest, sobs wracking his frame. Not as he heard Hamid call out for him, again and again, begging him to come back.

Hamid would be fine. Zolf was certain of that. Hamid was alive, he’d adjust, he’d get over Zolf, and he’d move on to something better. To _someone_ better. He just needed time.

Zolf wasn’t certain _he’d_ be fine, however. He could feel himself… flickering, the longer he spent without doing or saying or _being_ anything. He wasn’t quite sure how his whole ghost thing worked, but he’d never gone this long without doing something before, whether that be throwing something, or speaking, or just letting himself appear for a while. It would be okay, though, even if he faded, because Hamid would be okay.

He just wished it was easier.

* * *

Hamid had asked the medium to help him again, and Zolf wasn’t sure if that made him annoyed or just… sad. On one hand, he still didn’t like mediums on principle, and no amount of niceness on her part would change the fact that she’d tried to kick him out of _his home_. On the other… he’d thought that Hamid knew him better than that. He’d thought that Hamid knew it wouldn’t work like that, that he wouldn’t come back just because some medium said some obscure Latin phrases into the empty air of a room he wasn’t even in.

In actuality, all it did was strengthen his resolve to stay away; Hamid hadn’t known him all that well, after all, so obviously his feelings were all just a passing crush. The _idea_ of being in love with a ghost, rather than the actual feeling.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though.

She didn’t do that much, just waved around some incense, muttered some Latin, and asked some gentle questions. Mostly she just seemed confused; understandable, considering that Hamid hadn’t complained about the haunting since the last time she’d tried to expel Zolf from the flat, so she’d likely assumed that the problem had solved itself somehow. And now Hamid was requesting her help to get Zolf back. He couldn’t really blame her for not quite understanding what was going on. Still, she did what she could, gently calling out for Zolf to announce his presence in some way.

By the time she left, Zolf was of half a mind to make himself known just to tell Hamid off for the whole thing. Probably would have, too, if that wouldn’t have just proven him right.

A few minutes after Azu had left Hamid sat down on the couch heavily, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Zolf. I just- I knew that Azu wouldn’t be able to do anything, and I know you told me that the practice just annoys you. I just thought…” Hamid let out a long sigh, lifting his head to glance around the seemingly-empty room. “I thought maybe you’d come back to chew me out for it. But I guess I was wrong.” He gave a teary chuckle, wiping at his damp eyes with the back of his hand as he stood again, turning toward his bedroom. Just before he left the room he turned to look over his shoulder and whispered, “Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

(Or perhaps Zolf was wrong. Perhaps Hamid knew him very well after all.)

* * *

It had been getting more difficult, as of late, for Zolf to remain… complete. Without the anchoring that _being_ (in one way or another) brought, he tended to drift, growing distant from himself. It felt almost like his edges were being erased, parts of him bleeding out into his surroundings. The feeling came and went, however, so Zolf wasn’t overly concerned; he would deal with it when he had to deal with it.

It was during one of those episodes of blurring that Zolf was abruptly brought back to himself by the sound of the front door slamming open, and a groan from Hamid. He floated toward the sound, as soundless as he’d been for the last month. Hamid sounded like he was in pain, he reasoned to himself, he just wanted to make sure he was okay, that was all.

All his resolve went out the window when he finally saw him, however. He stood in the front room, the knees of his trousers torn and dusty, clutching at his head with one hand, blood dripping from between his fingers.

Zolf was across the room in an instant, visible before he’d even had a chance to think it through, his hands hovering a few inches above Hamid’s skin despite knowing that he didn’t have the focus he needed to touch him right then even if he wanted to. “Hamid! What- what happened? Your head, you’re bleeding.”

Hamid stumbled forward, even closer to Zolf, nearly tripping over his own feet before he finally managed to plant a hand (the one that wasn’t currently being used to stymie the bleeding) on the wall to steady himself. “‘M fine, Zolf,” he slurred (and Zolf would have been much more worried about that, given his head injury, if Hamid wasn’t so obviously drunk). “Jus’ tripped. Did- did you notice the ground movin’? ‘S hard to walk straight when it’s moving.”

“I’m sure it is,” Zolf said, fighting down the soft smile he could feel creeping onto his face. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, be _visible_ , he shouldn’t be letting himself find Hamid adorable; it would only hurt more in the long run (when Hamid inevitably left, and Zolf would be alone again, all alone).

Hamid leaned back against the wall, dropping his hand from his head as he slid down it to sit on the floor. Without the pressure the wound started bleeding even more profusely, the blood running down his face and mixing with the tears now trailing down his cheeks as he started to cry.

Zolf floated down to be eye-to-eye with him, focusing on his hand as he did, making it solid (or as close to solid as he was ever able to) and pressing it to the cut on Hamid’s forehead, trying to staunch the flow. “Hey, it’s okay, Hamid. I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Zolf?” Hamid murmured, his words still slurred. “I jus’, you-you’re here. You’re back.” He reached up a hand to touch Zolf’s shoulder and Zolf’s form parted around it like mist, that same warmth, the one he’d almost forgotten he’d been missing, spreading from the point of contact. “You- you’re purple. You’re worried. Wha’s wrong?”

Abruptly, Zolf was reminded of all the reasons he _shouldn’t be there_ , everything he’d been telling himself for the last few agonizing weeks. None of them seemed very important anymore, not in the face of this; Hamid, who’d been hurting and alone, looking up at him with so much awe and affection, the warmth of him suffusing into Zolf’s entire being, making him feel _alive_ again. So he didn’t back away, didn’t disappear, instead focusing on that feeling, the energy that accompanied it, letting it flow through him and back to Hamid.

He pulled his hand away from Hamid’s head, moving it to cup his cheek instead, the cut having completely disappeared without even a scar to show for it. “Yeah, I’m back. I’m not- I’m not going anywhere.” He closed his eyes, taking a long, slow breath (despite not actually needing to), and grounded himself, his form solidifying until finally, _finally_ Hamid’s hand rested on his shoulder. His solid, real shoulder.

Hamid gasped quietly, his eyes flicking down to his hand before coming back to look at him. “Zolf,” he said, sounding breathless. “Can I kiss you?”

“I-I don’t know if that’s a good idea. You’re drunk, Hamid. I’m not going to-”

Hamid gave a sheepish smile, raising his free hand to gesture at his now-uninjured forehead. “I’m pretty sure you did more than just fix this, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He _did_ sound much more sober than he had only a few minutes before, his words clearly enunciated and lacking the… looseness they apparently had when he was drunk. “So,” he said, leaning slightly closer to Zolf. “Can I kiss you?”

Zolf barely had time to nod before Hamid pushed himself forward onto his knees, his arms coming up to wrap around Zolf’s neck as he kissed him.

And if Hamid ended up sprawled on the floor a few moments later because the kiss had robbed Zolf of the focus he needed to keep himself corporeal, well, could he really be blamed?

It was a damn good kiss.


	3. Of earthly wants and aspirations high

Zolf had never really considered why he was still around. It had never even occurred to him, in all honesty. When he first… came back, he was far more concerned with figuring out _what the hell was going on_ than anything else, and then, well, it just hadn’t seemed all that important.

He’d come back, that was all that mattered. He’d had time to say goodbye to Feryn, a proper goodbye, even if Feryn couldn’t hear him, even if he’d been far too weak and unsure at the time to know how to _make_ Feryn hear him. He’d gotten to see him move on, got to see him live his life, find happiness again. It was a whole lot more than he’d thought he’d get, back during the storm (the screaming, the churning of the ocean, the cold cold _cold_ of the saltwater around him, filling his lungs as the world faded away). After a certain point, it seemed a bit like looking a gift horse in the mouth, trying to figure out what kept him here, so he just. Stopped.

So he hadn’t really been expecting Hamid to find anything when he’d decided to go digging through the boxes in the attic. He certainly hadn’t expected to see Hamid re-emerge, slowly and carefully, cradling something gently in his hands like it was precious.

“Zolf,” he said, his tone sounding almost… reverential, was the closest word Zolf could come up with to describe it. “I, uh, found something. Something you might want to see.”

“What is it?” He brought himself into visibility a few feet away, floating over to look over Hamid’s shoulder at whatever he was holding. Then he laid eyes on it, and felt a sensation that was probably most akin to all the breath getting knocked out of his lungs (not that he had breath. Or lungs). Because there, shining dully in the ambient light of the room, was a pair of dog tags.

 _Zolf’s_ dog tags. Slightly rusty, coated in a thick layer of dust, but unmistakable nonetheless.

“O-oh.” He reached out, fingers hovering over their surface, tracing over the shape of his name, obscured to the point of being nearly impossible to see, though he knew it was there.

“I take it these are yours, then?” Hamid said, clearly aiming for lighthearted and missing by a very wide margin. 

“Y-yes, I- How- Where did you find them?” There were so many other questions, swirling through his mind, questions he knew Hamid wouldn’t know the answer to. But this one, at least, he would.

“They were just… in a box, in the corner. A small one, meant to hold necklaces, I think. That’s what I thought it’d be, at first. But then…” Hamid trailed off, taking a deep breath, like he was bracing for something, before he continued. “Before I- well, before I really got to know you, I was… looking into ghosts and things and… a lot of sources seemed to think that- that something like this,” he paused, gesturing slightly with the dog tags. “Something that’s keeping the spirit here, it could be- be burned or destroyed or the like. And that would, theoretically… free them.” He looked up at Zolf, his eyes brimming with tears. “Free you. If that was something you wanted.”

Zolf was silent for a moment, staring at the dog tags, _his_ dog tags, the things keeping him trapped here in the mortal coil. Except he wasn’t really trapped, was he? Sure, a couple years ago he would have believed that, would have taken any opportunity to finally be freed, to move on. But now… Now, he was finding that he quite liked it here, that all those years of both loneliness and desperation to be alone were worth it, because they meant that he got to be _here_ , with Hamid, right now.

He shifted his gaze to Hamid’s face. Hamid, whose cheeks were wet where a few tears had escaped. Hamid, who was biting his lip, keeping himself from speaking, from interrupting Zolf’s introspection despite how clearly he wanted to say something. Hamid, who was kind, and intelligent, and affectionate. Hamid, who Zolf cared about more than anyone he’d encountered in the decades since Feryn’s death. Hamid, who Zolf loved. Hamid, who loved Zolf in return.

It was an easy choice when he looked at Hamid. “I.. I think I’d rather stay. Here. With you. If you’ll have me.”

The smile that Hamid gave him then was almost blindingly bright, wide and relieved. “Of course I will. I-“ He hesitated, a slight bit of apprehension in his tone when he finally continued, “I love you. Of course, I want you here.”

“I love you, too,” Zolf responded, and Hamid relaxed, the tension in his expression easing with the words. “I want to stay.”

Hamid leaned forward minutely, looking for all appearances like he was about to kiss him before abruptly remembering that Zolf wasn’t corporeal at the moment. Instead, he held up his still cupped hands, the dog tags resting in them. “Do you want… I don’t know, do you think you could hold them? Do you want to?”

Zolf nodded silently, regarding the tags as he brought his hand into corporeality. 

(He hadn’t thought- he’d thought they were lost, that they’d sunk to the bottom of the ocean like the rest of him had. He’d thought the reason he was still around was because of the house, because it’d been Feryn’s. But all this time, his dog tags, tucked away in some dark corner of the attic, had held him here.)

The change was almost instantaneous. He felt it the moment Hamid dropped the tags into his palm, a wave of warmth, pulsing from the point of contact through his entire form, and-

 _Feryn, sitting on the floor, cradling the tags in his hands, knees tucked up to his chest. His words muffled, like Zolf was hearing them from underwater. “I just- I miss you. I’ve been missing you. And I know you’re gone; no one survives a wreck like that, but… God, you never realize what you have until it’s gone, do you? I wish I could talk to you again, just- just once. There’s so many things I should’ve said._ Would _have said, if I’d known… if I’d known I was going to lose my little brother.” He sighed heavily, getting to his feet, never taking his eyes off the tags in his hands. “Wilde says this isn’t healthy, and while I wouldn’t usually take his advice about this sort of thing, given his track record, I… I think he might be right. I’m going to- I’m going to go stay with him for a while. Get out of this house, so I can get some sense of… normalcy again. So I don’t have to look at all the stuff you left behind. And I’m going to put these away. Maybe… maybe that’ll help me move on.” He closed his fist around them, taking a shuddering breath. “Goodbye, Zolf.”_

-the sensation of pins and needles accompanying them, like feeling returning to a limb after it had fallen asleep.

Hamid gasped, and Zolf’s eyes snapped open, though he wasn’t sure exactly when he’d closed them. Hamid was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open slightly in shock. Before Zolf could say anything, ask him what was wrong, Hamid reached out to touch his shoulder.

To _touch his shoulder_ , despite the fact that Zolf was quite certain he didn’t have the focus to make himself corporeal at that moment.

“Zolf, you’re- you’re _solid_. Really, entirely solid. You’ve never…” He laughed; a bright, sudden thing. Disbelieving. Then he launched himself forward, into Zolf, wrapping his arms around Zolf’s neck in a tight hug.

Zolf laughed too, returning the hug. He turned his face into Hamid’s hair, pressing kisses into it. 

It would be a long time before they pulled apart, just far enough for Hamid to rock forward onto his toes and kiss him, both of them smiling into it.

Zolf could get used to this.

* * *

Zolf had tried leaving the flat a few times, in the early days. It had never worked, of course; he could only get about fifty feet past the front door before the tugging sensation in his chest would abruptly morph to pain, yanking him back.

So, needless to say, Zolf didn’t get out much.

It hadn’t occurred to him, when they’d found his dog tags, that he _could_ leave now. At least, not until one afternoon that found Hamid sprawled out on the couch, head in Zolf’s lap, lamenting the fact that he’d been craving some kind of fancy food or other that he didn’t have the skills to make, but he didn’t want to go out to eat by himself (waiters always gave him pitying looks, he’d told Zolf once, and even though eating alone had never particularly bothered him, the looks did, so he avoided it when he could). Zolf had just made a supportive noise, carding his fingers gently through Hamid’s hair, before he realized.

Hamid didn’t have to eat alone; Zolf wasn’t bound to the house, he was bound to his tags, the tags that were currently hanging around his neck. He could _go_ places, if he wanted.

He told Hamid as much, and within moments he was sitting bolt upright, giving Zolf one of his blindingly bright smiles, excitedly asking if Zolf would want to (of course he did, he wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t. Besides, he never could deny Hamid anything).

Which was how, a mere two hours later, Zolf found himself sitting at a table in one of the most expensive-looking restaurants he’d ever _seen_ , let alone set foot in, idly pushing food around his plate to make it look like he was eating until he could reasonably pass it over to Hamid.

When he’d offered to go out for dinner with Hamid, there were a few things he hadn’t taken the time to consider: 

Firstly, that he had been dead for a long time, and because of that the clothes he always wore were… more than a bit out of date. Thankfully, one of the house’s previous residents had left behind a few boxes, one of which was full of clothes that were reasonably close to Zolf’s size, and thanks to his now fairly permanent corporeal state Zolf was actually able to change for the first time in the however many years it had been since he’d died. And if his lack of previous consideration for this point had come with the added benefit of him needing Hamid to tie his tie for him, his hands lingering on Zolf’s collar far longer than was really necessary, well… Neither of them really minded that, did they?

Secondly, and in Zolf’s opinion more importantly, that he had never been one for fancy restaurants (even when he was alive), while Hamid very much was. That wouldn’t have been much of an issue either, given that he’d needed to attend a formal ceremony or two during his time in the navy, if not for the fact that he’d been dead for a _very long_ time, and etiquette had gone and changed without him realizing it. Hamid insisted it was fine, that he didn’t think it was a problem, but Zolf couldn’t help but be painfully aware of all the eyes on him, more eyes than had been able to see him in decades. He knew, logically, that they weren’t all looking at him, and that of the ones that were it was likely that most of them, if not all, weren’t _actually_ judging him, but that didn’t really do much to help him calm down (Hamid’s hand, lightly resting on top of his on the table, was significantly more effective in that regard).

It was all worth it, though, Zolf believed wholeheartedly, since it made Hamid happy. Since he got to see Hamid smile across the table at him, got to see him laugh as he told silly stories from his childhood, got to feel the warmth of Hamid pressed against his side as they wandered out of the restaurant arm-in-arm.

Hamid pulled him to a stop under a streetlight just outside the door to their flat, rocking forward onto his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Zolf’s neck and kiss him, soft and sweet, before pulling back. Not far, just enough to look him in the eye, to whisper, “I had a lovely time tonight. Thank you, Zolf,” before grabbing his hand tugging them both inside.

Zolf asked him about it, later that night, Zolf’s head pillowed in Hamid’s lap (a complete reversal of their earlier position) as Hamid read aloud from some classic novel or other that Zolf didn’t recognize. Hamid gave an embarrassed chuckle. “It was, well, it was our first real date, and I just… It’s a bit silly, but I wanted a goodnight kiss?” His inflection made the words sound more like a question than a statement, one of his hands moving to rest lightly on Zolf’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric. “I know we already live together and- and all, but it felt like I needed to. It’s tradition.”

Zolf turned his head to look up at Hamid, reaching up a hand to cup his cheek, lightly stroking one of his cheekbones. Hamid leaned into the contact (like he always did), turning his head slightly to press a kiss to the inside of Zolf’s wrist. 

Zolf didn’t think it was silly at all. In fact, he thought quite the opposite; it was sweet, and endearing, and so thoroughly, entirely _Hamid_ that he found himself falling in love with him just that little bit more. But he didn’t quite know how to say that (he’d never been particularly good at talking about his feelings, after all), so instead he simply pushed himself up onto his elbows, pressing a kiss Hamid’s cheek before pulling back to whisper, “I love you,” into the space between them.

“I love you, too,” Hamid murmured back, reaching out to pull Zolf close and kiss him properly.

No, not silly at all.

* * *

Zolf still wasn’t sure about this whole plan. Sure, he wanted to make Hamid happy, and he wasn’t _opposed_ to the whole idea of talking to people other than Hamid for the first time since he’d died, but still. It felt different, actually _doing_ it, instead of just asking about it, and Zolf wasn’t sure he was ready (wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready).

“A-are you sure this is a good idea?” He asked, for what was probably the fifth time since Hamid had gotten up that morning.

Hamid didn’t seem annoyed, however, just gave Zolf an indulgent smile, gently lifting Zolf’s hand from the table where his fingers had been tapping incessantly. “I’m sure. But if you don’t want to do this, love, you don’t have to. I can cancel.”

Zolf felt himself flush slightly at the term of endearment (and wasn’t that novel, to actually blush instead of literally turn pink). “No, I just… You’re sure they won’t, I don’t know, throw salt at me, when they find out?”

“I’m pretty sure they won’t,” Hamid responded, then paused, tilting his head. “Would salt actually hurt you?”

“Nah. At least, I don’t think so? I’ve never really tried.”

“I can hide all of it, if it would make you feel better.”

Zolf just shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. “I’m fine.” He reached up to fiddle with the dog tags hanging around his neck (a nervous tic he’d developed as of late), and Hamid gave him a disbelieving look. “I’ll _be_ fine,” Zolf amended. “I promise. I just… need to get it over with.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and Hamid hopped up from the couch to answer it. Zolf stayed seated, rubbing his thumb over his name engraved on the tags over, and over, and over, in a vain attempt to distract himself (to keep his thoughts from descending into the anxious spiral of _‘what if, what if, what if’_ he could feel them tottering on the edge of). He could hear Hamid in the other room, speaking calmly as he tried to explain at least a bit of the situation before he brought them in (exactly like they’d agreed, though it didn’t do much to reassure Zolf). The calm didn’t last very long, however, as within moments the medium (Azu, her name was Azu) was shouting (not angrily, mind, just confused) and bursting into the living room, followed closely by the ones he knew to be Grizzop, Sasha, and Cel.

They all skidded to a stop as soon as they saw him, silence immediately falling over the group. Zolf cleared his throat, making eye contact with Hamid (who he could just barely see past the rest, hovering in the doorway) for just a moment before returning his focus to them. “Uh, hello. I’m, uh, I’m Zolf.” He paused, expecting… he didn’t know, _something_ , but getting absolutely nothing. 

The silence remained, so Zolf stood, making his way across the room toward them. He held his hand out toward Azu to shake, “Nice to finally meet you, I guess.”

Azu’s gaze flicked back and forth between Zolf’s hand and his face, eyes wide, for a few moments before she took the proffered hand. “I, uh, yes. Good to meet you as well.” She swallowed, glancing down to her feet. “I’m sorry for trying to convince you to leave, before,” she said, releasing his hand.

Zolf shrugged, grinning slightly. “It’s alright. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“That you are.”

(Behind her, Zolf heard Hamid breathe a sigh of relief.)

Then he moved on, offering the same to Grizzop (“Wotcher,”), Sasha (“Yeah, ‘s good to meet you too, mate,”), and Cel (“Absolutely phenomenal to meet you. Also, that you exist at all, it’s phenomenal.”) before taking a step back, resisting the urge to grab his tags again, unsure of what to do. Hamid seemed to sense that, stepping forward to usher everyone into the living room; his four friends all winding up squished together on the couch while he sat in the armchair, Zolf sitting next to him on a kitchen chair they’d dragged into the room.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, just a bit awkward. None of them seemed to know what to say, though Zolf couldn’t blame them for that. Had he been in their positions, he doubted he’d know what to say either. It wasn’t every day you met a ghost.

It didn’t take long before the silence was broken, however, by Cel leaning forward and asking, rather bluntly, whether they could feel the material of Zolf’s jacket, apparently curious about the qualities of incorporeal clothes made corporeal by the dog tags. By the time Zolf finished explaining that no, the clothes he was wearing were not the ones that he ‘wore’ when incorporeal, but also no, he wasn’t naked when he was incorporeal, the tension in the room had been thoroughly broken. The others even began chiming in with questions (in Grizzop’s case, about what it was like to be a ghost, and in Azu’s, about his and Hamid’s relationship).

It was nice.

But, before long, they had to leave. Zolf was somewhat surprised with how… disappointed he was. He hadn’t expected to get on with them that well, that quickly. It was a good sort of surprise though, he supposed. 

Azu, Grizzop, Cel, and Hamid had already moved to the foyer when Sasha turned to Zolf. “Everyone can see you now,” she said suddenly. “Good. That’s good. Nice to know I wasn’t hallucinating or nothing.”

“Oh!” Whatever Zolf had been expecting her to say, that wasn’t it. “You- you could see me before. You never said anything.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Like I said, mate, thought you weren’t real. Good that you are. You…” She trailed off, glancing behind her as though she were making sure no one else was listening in. “Hamid’s been happy lately. Well happy. ‘Cause of you, I guess. You’re- You’re good for him.”

Before Zolf had a chance to respond, Sasha had already turned and left the room, calling over her shoulder, “If you ever hurt him, I’ll kill you.”

“I’m already dead,” he called back.

A few hours later found Hamid and Zolf curled up together on the couch, Hamid tucked snugly under Zolf’s arm, watching some trashy romance on Netflix. Zolf pressed a kiss into Hamid’s hair, and Hamid sighed contentedly, relaxing further to let his head rest on Zolf’s chest. 

“It went well,” Zolf whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the triumphant swell of music as the movie’s protagonists kissed for the first time.

“It did. I never expected otherwise.”

“Sasha did threaten to kill me, though.”

“Yeah,” Hamid responded, affection lacing his words, “she does that.”

“Glad to know it wasn’t just me.”

Hamid just hummed quietly, leaning up to press a kiss to Zolf’s jaw before shifting his attention back to the movie.

Yeah, it went well. 

* * *

Zolf was tired. The kind of tiredness that used to come with extended bouts of object-throwing, door-slamming, all-around haunting. The kind of tired he’d previously only been able to recover from by just… not being, for a while. It was to be expected, he supposed; he was a ghost, he wasn’t meant to stay corporeal for this long, of course he’d get tired. It was… unpleasant, to say the least, but not horrible. He could deal with it. Besides, it wasn’t nearly as bad as he knew it _could_ get.

The thing was, he didn’t want it to get that bad. He was already feeling more irritable, annoyed, and he knew it would only get worse if he left it. He’d even snapped at Hamid for no reason the day before, and Hamid’s hurt expression had been more than enough to convince him that he needed to figure out a solution. 

The theory was simple, the way Zolf saw it. The feeling was just the same as it had been before, and back then all he’d needed to do was not be, so obviously that was what he needed to do. 

In practice...

In practice, he stood alone in the middle of the living room, having removed the dog tags from around his neck, cupping them in his palm and staring at them consideringly. 

The thing was, he trusted Hamid, he really did. He trusted him implicitly; he trusted him with his heart, and had absolutely no issues trusting him with his entire being. Theoretically, that was. There was just something… different, about actually putting that trust in him into practice. It wasn’t that he thought Hamid would betray it, the complete opposite in fact, it just felt… strange.

But he needed to do it. He needed to. And there was no one he trusted more than Hamid. 

Determined, he trudged to the kitchen, where Hamid was making something for himself for dinner. “Hamid, can we talk for a minute?” 

Hamid glanced up from the tomato he was dicing, looking concerned, then set down the knife and turned to face Zolf. “Sure. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, I just…” He trailed off, unsure how to say what he needed to. “I’ve just been a bit tired, lately, and I was wondering if you’d- that is, if you’d be willing to- ah, screw it.” With a frustrated noise, Zolf crossed the kitchen, gently took Hamid’s hand, and dropped the dog tags into them. “I need to not be, for a little while,” he said.

Hamid made a noise like a wounded animal. Looking up, Zolf noticed that he was nearly crying, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he stared down at the tags in his palm. It was almost enough to make Zolf snatch them back immediately, the very prospect of Hamid not _wanting_ them, not wanting to hold Zolf’s existence like that. But he held off. He didn’t _know_ that was why Hamid was crying, and he certainly didn’t want Hamid to think he didn’t trust him just because of a few tears. “You-you don’t have to take them, if you don’t want to. I just thought-”

“No!” Hamid cut him off, his voice thick with tears. “No, really, it’s fine, I want to take them. It just means a lot to me, is all. That you’d trust me with them.”

“Of course I do, love.”

That was all it took for the tears to spill over, Hamid looking for all the world like he was about to throw his arms around Zolf’s neck before he stopped himself (likely because he noticed that, as the seconds passed, Zolf was slowly losing his corporeality). Instead, he stood paralyzed in uncertainty. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to move anytime soon, Zolf took initiative, picking up the tags from Hamid’s hands and gently placing the chain over his neck, the tags coming to rest over Hamid’s heart.

“How fitting,” he murmured, his now-incorporeal hands dropping to his sides. “Thank you, Hamid.”

Hamid smiled, still slightly shaky, one of his hands drifting up to touch the tags, lightly tracing the lettering with his fingers. “Of course, my love. Anytime.”

* * *

“So,” Hamid said abruptly, startling Zolf out of his romance novel-induced reverie, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” Zolf cut in automatically, and Hamid shot him a faux-offended look before continuing on. 

“You remember how I got that invitation to Gideon and Liliana’s wedding a few months ago?” Zolf nodded silently, unsure where Hamid was going with that. “And you remember that I RSVPed?”

“You wanted to show them how well you’re doing.”

“Exactly. So, I was-” Hamid paused, sliding closer to Zolf so their sides were pressed together. “I was wondering if you’d like to come? With me. As my plus one.”

“I- what?”

Hamid tugged at the hem of his shirt, visibly nervous. “You don’t have to, obviously. I just thought it might be nice-”

Zolf cut him off, “Of course I’ll come. But… are you sure you want me to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Hamid asked, tilting his head, brows furrowed.

“I’m not- I mean, from what I remember of Gideon and Liliana, I don’t think I exactly,” he gestured to himself, “fit in, with that crowd. Aren’t you worried that they’ll, I don’t know, judge you? For being with me?”

Hamid shook his head slowly, expression fond. “It doesn’t matter to me what they think of you. I- I don’t care about that. I want to show them that I’m happy, that their pettiness can’t change that. And…” Hamid reached out to grab Zolf’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “And I’m happiest when I’m with you.”

Zolf felt his nonexistent heartbeat stutter in his chest, at that. “M- Me too. I mean, you know…”

Hamid raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Zolf’s knuckles. “I know, my love.”

* * *

The wedding wasn’t nearly as bad as Zolf had worried it would be; if anything, it was boring. Gideon and Liliana were relatively polite and, upon Hamid introducing them to Zolf, seemed genuinely happy for him. Bertie was the only guest who made anything even close to a snide comment about Zolf’s presence, but Hamid managed to drag Zolf away before the situation could escalate any further. And, like a cherry on top of a thoroughly neutral cake, Zolf discovered that wedding traditions hadn’t changed nearly as much as everything else had, in the time since his death, so he didn’t have to lean over to ask Hamid questions during the ceremony anywhere close to as much as he’d pessimistically worried he would.

But, if Zolf were being honest, the ceremony itself hadn’t been the part he’d been worried about. No, a much larger portion of his anxiety about the event was focused on the reception. At least during the ceremony the attention was solely on the happy couple, nobody would be able to tell if Zolf behaved a little weirdly, or seemed out of touch. The reception was a whole other story.

Hamid’s reassurances didn’t do much to make him feel better about it either, no matter how sincere they were. Just because Hamid had been around him long enough to stop noticing his quirks, and Azu, Grizzop, Sasha, and Cel never commented on them, didn’t mean that they weren’t there. So, rather than risking it, Zolf took the first opportunity to tuck himself into a shadowy corner of the hall where the reception was being held (Sasha would be proud), having removed his dog tags in order to make himself even less visible. It wasn’t like anyone but Hamid would really notice his absence anyway, he wasn’t the one they’d invited. He would have been tempted to disappear entirely, if it weren’t for the stern look Hamid had given him when he’d suggested it, before he’d wandered off to chat with some university friends.

Said group of university friends had moved onto the dance floor themselves, dancing with the kind of abandon Zolf was fairly sure he’d never been able to achieve, even when he’d been alive. Some had broken off, dancing with their own plus ones, while the rest had stuck together. Hamid himself had split off from the group, wandering back to stand next to Zolf. He was still slightly out of breath with laughter, his face flushed, smiling as he watched the rest of his group on the dance floor.

He was beautiful.

Hamid’s eyes drifted over to Zolf, and his smile gained that particular softness it always had when he looked at him. “Hey,” he said gently as he came closer, “what are you all pink about?”

 _You. Just you. Everything about you,_ Zolf thought. _I love you._ But that was a little much, as aware as he was of everyone else in the room (even if they weren’t aware of him, hidden away, only semi-corporeal, in the corner). So instead, he slipped his dog tags back around his neck, took a step forward, and offered Hamid his hand with a flourish. “May I have this dance?” 

Hamid looked stunned for a moment, but accepted it readily enough, his smile only growing. Zolf pulled him toward the dance floor and tugged him close. Hamid released the hand to wrap his arms around Zolf’s neck, and Zolf placed his hands on Hamid’s hips, not so much dancing as they were swaying gently side to side.

Zolf was certain he could handle endless insufferable people, boring weddings, and anything else, as long as it meant he got this.

* * *

At some point, Hamid had started referring to Zolf’s dog tags as his ‘anchor’. Zolf didn’t agree, didn’t like the implications that came with it. Sure, the tags were what had kept him around in the first place, but now… Now, they weren’t what was making him stay. No, if anything could truly be called Zolf’s anchor, it would be Hamid.

He stayed for Hamid. He stayed _with_ Hamid. And he’d keep staying for as long as Hamid wanted him to.

And if he was lucky, which it was beginning to look like he might be, that meant he’d be staying for the rest of Hamid’s life. 

He was okay with that.


End file.
